Cold Nights Make Staying Alert So Hard
by Wiggles123
Summary: (Frender/Fender/Fendship) Bender uses a cold night as an excuse to climb into bed with Fry.


It was the dead of winter, and it sure was easy to tell in Robot Arms Apartments, room 00100100. After all, complexes designed for robot use typically did not provide the heating services equipped for a human's contentedness, (or Bender's, for that matter.) Of course, the robot put on a show, shivering dramatically as he furled to his side the couch. Hey, even though the cold wouldn't necessarily harm him didn't mean he couldn't feel it. And it certainly bothered him while he was trying to sleep. Bender simulated a yawn and rubbed his amber optic drowsily, lurching to a stand. Lazy footcups dragged him toward the fuzzy television so that he could switch it off, and the dim glow in the room soon faded to dark, purple-brown shadows. Bender scanned around for a minute, listening to the thrum of his little home. Footsteps, hover-car horns and a few muffled voices leaked through the walls. Night Owls. Occasionally, it was the robot himself who was stirring about at night, committing fraud and larceny, sometimes selling various organs on the black market. But tonight, he was pent up inside of a frigid apartment, secretly enjoying the sounds of the New New York City night. But that comforting ambiance was soon interrupted by his roommate's annoying snoring.

God, Fry, why do ya have to ruin everything? Thought Bender while he turned his head to glare into Fry's room. (Well, actually they shared the room as of late, but initially it was Fry's room.) Stupid Fry. All warm and cozy under his soft blankets while Bender practically froze to death in the t.v. room. How dare he possess such body heat and not offer to share with his best friend, Bender? It was an outrage, and Bender wasn't going to stand down and accept this neglect. But what was he to do? Stealing Fry's wallet was practically a daily routine rather than a punishment at this point, and smothering him with a pillow was starting to lose it's spice. Bender concluded that it was only fair for him to borrow some of Fry's body heat. He smiled slightly, proud of himself. Who could've dreamed up a finer excuse to climb into bed with Philip J. Fry?

A mischievous chuckle escaped the robot's mouthplate as he tip-toed his way through the blackened apartment and into the bedroom. He stood cautiously at the foot of Fry's bed, observing the breathing lump of flesh under the covers. Fry snuffled softly, perhaps sleep talking, and slowly slipped his pudgy thumb into his mouth like a toddler. If Bender'd had a nose, he would've scrunched it while trying not to smile at the undeniable... well, cuteness of Fry's actions. Damn him. Damn him and all of his precious, disgusting, human mannerisms. Bender's optics squinted in annoyance, and, rolling them with frustration, he crawled onto the bed at Fry's toasty feet. He was above the covers, which wasn't so bad, but because Bender strived for nothing less than greatness, he decided that simply being on top of the covers near Fry's lousy feet wasn't good enough for him. If he was doing this, he was gonna do it all the way. It's not like he hadn't powered down next to Fry before, so what's the worst that could happen?

Bender inched up on his hands and knees until he was just close enough so that he could dip his hollow legs under the covers, sensing the much-appreciated warmth immediately. It was bliss. (And naturally he told himself that it was only the heat that was blissful, and certainly not the close proximity with the meatbag.) Fry didn't even budge. The redhead remained completely unconscious, all guards lowered, all activities ceased besides inhaling and exhaling oxygen, and circulating blood with his fragile, human heart. Bender could easily stop either of these functions, especially now while Fry was sleeping. He'd done it before, but never found the sensation as satisfying as he thought he would. Aside from the amusement he felt when hearing Fry's muffled screams through a pillow or seeing him writhe on the floor after a good sucker-punch, Bender always seemed to feel pretty sick at the thought of anything fatal happening to his best friend, the only thing he secretly cared for more than hookers, booze, cigars or money. Yeah, Fry was a moron, a bastard, and a revolting sack of useless meat, but he was special, unique and beautiful too. Bender wouldn't ever really kill him. He couldn't, so he supposed he'd have to settle for mild mutilation. Oh well, what else are house pets for?

Bender sighed a little. Even being next to Fry under the sheets wasn't quite enough. He yearned to be closer still, (a quick, intrusive thought told him to kiss Fry's face, another suggested he cut Fry open and crawl inside him to achieve maximum closeness.) "Shut up." Bender growled to himself, then proceeded to find a happy medium. He coiled his thin, silver arms around Fry's waist, gradually so he wouldn't wake him. That would be awkward. Then, he tucked his legs between Fry's, feeling more comfortable by the second. And soon, Bender was fully intertwined with Fry, resting his silver cheek on his warm, squishy chest. But before he succumbed to the lulling warmth, a thought of his made him smile a bit, and squeeze Fry a little closer to him.

Thanks, loser. Ya make one damn good space-heater. Too bad that's all you're good for. Heheheh... I'm pretty funny. Well, g'night meatbag... Love ya.


End file.
